


let the season change my mind

by Friendly_Gayberhood_SpiderMan (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Les Mis Holiday Exchange 2020, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Friendly_Gayberhood_SpiderMan
Summary: The facts are thus: Marius loves Cosette. In a romantic way. He can’t imagine his life without her.The facts are also thus: Marius loves Courfeyrac. In a romantic way. He can’t imagine his life without him.The facts are also also thus: Marius has no idea what to do.Written for the prompt: "(Polyamory) Cosette and Marius are in a long-term established relationship, when Marius realizes he's falling in love with Courfeyrac, too. Modern or canon era. Fic preferred."
Relationships: Courfeyrac/Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2020)





	let the season change my mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RevocablePeril (PerihelionIcarus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerihelionIcarus/gifts).



> title from "this december" by ricky montgomery

It starts, of all things, with a sprig of mistletoe.

Okay, that’s a bit untrue. It doesn’t _start_ there. It starts months earlier--maybe even years earlier; it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when, even though hindsight is supposedly 20/20. But whoever said that was probably lying anyways, since all hindsight has ever really done, in Marius’ experience, is make things blurrier--run them together like colors in a kaleidoscope until he’s unsure of anything except the distinct feeling that he should have foreseen an ending from the very beginning.

But yeah. The mistletoe.

It’s a fairly innocuous thing, hanging down a few centimeters from where it’s haphazardly taped to the top of the doorframe. Marius probably would not have noticed it if not for the great deal his friends had made of it: Bahorel dipping Jehan for a kiss to rival those in romance movies, Bahorel spinning Courfeyrac once before pressing a kiss to his laughing lips, Bahorel “goading” Feuilly into a chaste peck on the lips with a grand, very sarcastic speech on the importance of traditions--okay, maybe Bahorel had been the only one making a great deal of it.

(And Marius too, albeit in a much less showy way. It was only a few hours ago that he had crossed under the doorway, holding hands with Cosette, only to be stopped from fully entering the room.

“Wait,” Cosette had said, and then, when Marius had obeyed, turning to look at her with what he knew must have been a confused expression, “Mistletoe.”

With her free hand she’d pointed upwards, Marius’ eyes following automatically to where, sure enough, the plant was fastened. When he’d turned his attention back to her, his face had been so warm it’d be hard for anyone to tell he’d just been out in the chill winter air just a few moments prior.

Cosette had looked flustered as well--which had somewhat comforted him--but she had been sporting a large smile--which had greatly comforted him.

“Well?” she’d prompted, and Marius had needed no further encouragement. With a movement that was only slightly shaky--even after all the time they’d been together, he could never fully get used to this, never quite believe his luck--he’d leaned in closer, closer, _closer_.

Cosette’s lips were rough, chapped from the cold, and when she’d brought a hand up to cradle Marius’ face, the prickly fabric of her glove had scratched at his cheek. It was absolutely perfect.

They’d pulled away after a few seconds, not breaking eye contact. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Marius had registered whoops and hollers--their friends, no doubt, finally having noticed the two of them--but he’d ignored them, choosing to focus solely on Cosette--a choice that was never hard, all things considered.

Her lashes had fluttered as her eyes drifted closed, a slow grin spreading across her face. Marius had felt a familiar swooping feeling in his stomach, breath catching in his throat.

_I love her_ , he’d thought, _I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her_. And he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.)

Despite Bahorel’s dramatics, the group had quickly forgotten about the mistletoe as the night progressed, much too occupied with other matters. They’re technically supposed to be having a meeting, but no one seems to be paying that any mind: Combeferre and Feuilly are engaged in a deep conversation about--Marius leans closer in their direction, nearly losing his balance in the process--either flowers, philosophy, the state of the education system, or all three at once; Bahorel and Grantaire are sharing a large plate of tortilla chips--with absolutely no dip to go along with it--between them; Enjolras is leaning back in his chair, eyes closed as he twirls a pencil between two fingers; Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet are attempting some kind of three person waltz, swaying dangerously close to the table in the back upon which Jehan is perched, wielding a phone from which one of the most terrible holiday songs Marius has ever heard is blaring; and Éponine is conspicuously absent--Marius thinks he might have heard her say something about calling her sister.

Marius scans his eyes over the room again, looking. And there--Cosette and Courfeyrac, tucked away into a corner, talking in low tones. They keep on looking at him, casting short glances that only last for a millisecond before slipping away again. They probably think Marius doesn’t notice--and if it was anyone else, he probably wouldn’t, but he always feels so _aware_ when it comes to the two of them; he couldn’t possibly _not_ notice.

After a second of deliberation, Marius decides to head over to them. If whatever Cosette and Courfeyrac are scheming involves him--which, given the looks, it definitely does--it’s best to try and figure it out as soon as possible.

"Pontmercy!" Courfeyrac exclaims, once Marius has made his way over. "Great timing." He reaches out to wrap an arm around Marius' shoulder, a movement made slightly awkward by the fact that Marius has a good few centimeters on him--a fact Courfeyrac takes every possible opportunity to pretend not to notice.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marius frowns, noting the matching all-too-innocent smiles on Courfeyrac and Cosette's faces.

"We're going to the store." Cosette claps her hands together. Marius catches a glint of _something_ flashing in her eye--he's not sure if he should be worried about whatever it is. "Come with us!"

"Wait- why-" Marius starts, but Cosette has already grabbed hold of both his and Courfeyrac's hands and is dragging the two of them across the room.

She lets go just before they reach the door, striding forward as she hums along to the song that Jehan has apparently decided to put on repeat--although if Marius listens hard enough, he thinks he can hear slight differences. A new verse? A remix? Or are all songs of this type just so horrendous that they're practically indistinguishable?

Cosette hums one last note as she exits the room. Marius makes to follow her but freezes at the feeling of a hand on his arm.

Before Marius has time to wonder at it, Courfeyrac is leaning towards him, standing on tiptoe as he presses a feather-light kiss to Marius’ cheek. The touch sets Marius aflame, the side of his face scorched at the point where Courfeyrac’s lips meet it.

“Wouldn’t want to break tradition.” Courfeyrac’s grinning as he pulls away, one hand gesturing vaguely upwards. Without another word he--Marius doesn’t want to say _skips_ , but if the word, shoe, whatever, fits--forward to where Cosette is waiting and links arms with her, the two of them exchanging a few words that Marius finds himself unable to comprehend.

Marius, meanwhile, remains stuck in place. He leans against the doorframe, body suddenly too heavy to hold itself up. Marius feels a familiar swooping feeling in his stomach, breath catching in his throat.

_Oh_ , he thinks, _Oh no_.

.

The thing about being in love with Courfeyrac--and that _is_ what this is, no matter the many ways Marius has tried to rationalize his feelings away--is that it doesn’t mean Marius is any less in love with Cosette.

It’s something he’d come to terms with over the past few weeks, after hours upon hours of panicked and confused introspection--which, as panicked and confused introspection is Marius’ usual state of being, neither Cosette nor Courfeyrac had taken special notice of.

The facts are thus: Marius loves Cosette. In a romantic way. He can’t imagine his life without her.

The facts are also thus: Marius loves Courfeyrac. In a romantic way. He can’t imagine his life without him.

The facts are also also thus: Marius has no idea what to do.

He mulls this over as he sits between Cosette and Courfeyrac, the three of them seated on one side of a way-too-large restaurant booth. Marius tunes out the sound of friendly banter as he stares down at his menu, wincing at the absurdly high numbers following each euro sign. He wonders how Cosette had ever possibly convinced him that coming here was a good idea.

(The answer, of course, is that she hadn’t had to do much convincing at all. She’d simply flashed that smile at him--the one that, while still bright, always contains a hint of uncertainty--and Marius had found himself agreeing immediately.)

Marius feels his shoulder jostle as Courfeyrac leans to look over it, pointing one arm at an item in the pasta section.

“That one’s good.” He hums, and with how close they are, Marius can practically feel it. He wonders if Cosette can as well, with the way it seems to resonate through him.

“Oh, you’ve eaten here before?” Cosette asks, and now she’s also leaning into Marius, eyes focused on the spot on the menu where Courfeyrac’s finger still rests. Marius thinks he might die, right here, right now. He thinks it wouldn’t be so bad a way to go.

“Mhm yeah.” Courfeyrac withdraws his hand but the rest of his body stays painfully close to Marius’. “A few weeks ago. Enjolras and I decided to treat ourselves after a study session. Or, well,” he laughs a little; the sound and barely-there puff of air that accompanies it makes Marius’ already fluttering heart beat even faster, “I decided, and Enjolras agreed. I didn’t expect to be back so soon, though. Especially not with the two of you.”

It’s not a question, or anything nearing one really, but Marius still feels compelled to answer. “Ah, well.” He swallows, reaches out to grab his glass of water but stops short of actually touching it. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out together. Just the three of us. I mean.” His fingers curl into his palms, flex, curl again--a nervous habit he’s had since he was a kid, although why he’s nervous _now_ he couldn’t say. “The last time was when we went to see that movie, I think?”

“Ah, yes.” Courfeyrac finally leans back. Marius tries to feel relieved about this, but with Cosette still a warm weight against his side, he can’t honestly say it relaxes him any. “The _romance_ movie. Which we watched in a theater filled with _couples_.”

“Um.” Marius blinks. “Yeah, that was it. Did you not like it or something? Because I feel like it’s a little late to bring it up….”

Courfeyrac doesn’t reply to that, choosing instead to exchange a significant look with Cosette. Marius frowns as he observes this, struck with the feeling that he’s missing something important. This feeling only grows more potent when Cosette pulls back, one hand lifting to cover her mouth as her shoulders shake with something that Marius suspects is laughter--though he has absolutely no clue what’s so funny.

Before he can gather up the courage to ask--or even figure out what he _should_ be asking--Courfeyrac is speaking again, sharing a story or set-up to a joke that fully captures Cosette's attention. Marius decides to let the previous subject go, leaning back to observe the interaction.

A feeling of warmth sparks in his chest, growing with each laugh, interjection, and digression until it reaches every part of his body, ignites his veins. He wants to take a picture of this moment, make a painting, catch it in a bottle and keep it near him at all times. He wants to live in it for the rest of his life, keep this feeling until he dies, until he is a corpse buried six feet underground. He wants the universe to collapse inwards until there’s nothing left but the three of them, nothing left but here, now. He wants every day to be like this, to be spent with the two people most important to him in the world. He wants everything and more, more, _more_.

And maybe that’s too much to wish for, but, nonetheless, Marius wishes.

.

Christmas Eve rolls around and Cosette is halfway across the country. She’s visiting her father, Marius is aware, and while he can find absolutely no faults with this decision--nor would he dare even look for one, not when he knows how important Cosette’s father is to her--he wishes he could be with her. As it is, he supposes he’ll have to settle for seeing her virtually.

Speaking of which:

Marius sighs as he waits for his laptop to restart. He taps at a few random keys, hoping to speed up the process somewhat, but is met only with the same blue screen and white loading wheel. Sighing once more, he slouches down in his chair.

“Flaring those passionate nostrils isn’t going to make the computer load any faster.” Marius doesn’t startle at the voice--he _doesn’t_.

“Hmph.” Marius turns his head, registering the sight of Courfeyrac standing beside him, holding two mugs. He reaches out for one, taking a sip as soon as Courfeyrac hands it to him. The cocoa is warm, sweet, not too powdery, and Marius knows it’s store-bought--just one of the many things they got on their short trip during the meeting nearly a month ago--but that doesn’t stop him from wondering how Courfeyrac manages to make it taste so _perfect_.

Or maybe that’s thinking about it in the wrong order or reversing cause and effect or something like that. Maybe the cocoa isn’t even as good as he thinks it is; love, rose-tinted glasses, etc.

Before Marius can get too lost in the pseudo-philosophical maelstrom that is his thoughts, a loud _ding_ sounds from his laptop, signaling that it’s finally finished restarting. He hurriedly turns back to it, murmuring a “thanks” as Courfeyrac grabs the mug out of his hands and sets it down on the table before he can spill its contents all over his keyboard.

Without wasting another second, Marius starts up the video calling application conveniently pinned to his toolbar. He clicks on a name, curls-flexes-curls his fingers as he waits for the call to be accepted.

After half a minute--during which the possibility of Marius spontaneously combusting becomes more and more likely--Cosette's face appears on his screen, slightly grainy and only dimly illuminated no matter how much Marius adjusts the brightness on his computer, but still as beautiful as always. Just looking at her is enough to calm Marius' nerves; not for the first time, he wonders how he managed to survive so many years without her in his life.

"Cosette," Marius breathes, tastes the weight of each syllable on his tongue. "I missed you."

"It's only been a day since we last called," Cosette teases, "But I missed you too." A short pause precedes her next statement, but when the words do come, they sound too deliberate to be an afterthought. "And you, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac immediately reciprocates the sentiment before retreating to the kitchen, claiming that he would “leave you two turtledoves to catch up.” Marius watches him go, turning his attention back to Cosette once Courfeyrac has completely vanished from sight. 

“How are things over there?” he asks. And even if he doesn't expect that too much has changed since the day before, he's still genuinely interested in the answer.

"Pretty great!" Cosette smiles, gesturing with her hands as she begins to talk. "This morning, Papa and I woke up early and went out to the nearest park to watch the sunrise, just like we used to when I was younger. It was absolutely splendid!" she hums, leaning in closer to the screen before continuing. "After that, we did some light parkour. I thought I wouldn't be able to keep up with Papa since I haven't so much as scaled a wall since I started attending university, but that wasn't the case at all. I guess it's true what they say about muscle memory!"

"Uh." Marius blinks. "Sure. That sounds… nice. Yeah." he coughs once. "Nice."

"It was." Cosette leans back again, tilting her head to the side. "And how about you? Has anything new happened since yesterday?"

"Oh, well…." 

And they're off, talking and talking and talking, not so much to communicate information or fill up a silence as just to hear each other’s voices.

They continue on like that for--Marius doesn't even know how long, wouldn't care to calculate even if he could. The two of them discuss anything and everything, the conversation never once growing stale or awkward even as they bounce back and forth between topics, words winding and splitting like frayed rope. It feels so natural, Marius thinks, that if he were to close his eyes, he would probably be able to pretend they’re in the same room.

He doesn’t, though--close his eyes, that is. That would involve looking away from Cosette, something which is not only undesirable, but borderline impossible. 

“And so I was planning to-” Cosette is saying, but she’s cut off by a sharp _knock_ , originating from her end. 

“Cosette?” The voice is deep, and so quiet Marius can barely hear it over the whirring of his laptop fan. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“Almost. Just give me a few minutes.” Cosette calls back, before addressing Marius again. “I have to go now, but we’ll talk later.” She says it like it’s a fact, a certainty; Marius’ heart is warmed by it, although not enough to melt the icicles that form there at the knowledge of her impending absence.

“Okay," he says, and it sounds more timid than he'd like. "Have fun."

"I love you." The words are nothing special; Marius has heard Cosette say them many, many times before, but they still run through him like an electric shock, like lightning striking copper wire.

"Love you too." And it's not until Cosette has blown a kiss to the screen and clicked the 'end call' button that Marius finally manages to force out a weak, "Bye."

He sits there for a long while, staring as his laptop screen progressively dims and then turns black. Laying his head down on his arms, he lets his eyes fall closed, remembering Cosette's eyes and hair and the way her voice pitches when she's excited and how much every part of him aches without her there--

_Thump_. The sound is loud enough and close enough that it makes Marius jump out of his seat. As he does, his shoulder collides with Courfeyrac, who is standing just to his left with one slightly reddened hand resting on the table.

"What-"

Courfeyrac interrupts before Marius can fully voice his question. "Do you know how long you've been sitting out here, moping like a lost puppy?"

He does not. "Um-"

"Too long!" Courfeyrac crosses his arms over his chest. "I refuse to let you pine away the rest of the day."

Marius frowns, looks away. "And what are you planning to do about it?" It's not exactly a genuine question, but it's not really a challenge either. Rather, it's- it's-

\--He doesn't know what it is.

Courfeyrac reaches out to grab one of Marius' hands, the touch calming and thrilling at the same time. Marius looks back at him, only to be met with a much softer expression than before. "I know you miss her, but you need to get your mind off of it. Why don't you come bake with me?" We can use some of that gingerbread mix we got last month."

Before he's consciously decided to, Marius finds himself agreeing with a single, sharp nod. That's enough for Courfeyrac, who takes it as a cue to drag Marius to the kitchen, striding forward with steady, confident steps while Marius lags slightly behind.

Their kitchen isn't messy--it's by no means neat, but it isn't _messy_. Everything has its set place, even if that place is a little unorthodox. Marius is reminded of this as Courfeyrac pulls a tray out of the toaster and procures a packet of gingerbread mix from where it's wedged between the knife rack--currently storing all of their utensils except, oddly enough, knives--and the wall.

"Here." Courfeyrac tosses the packet to Marius, who fumbles to catch it. “Open that.”

Marius does, tearing neatly along the dashed line at the top of the packet just as Courfeyrac drops a bowl on the nearest--or rather, only--counter. Marius pours the mix in and Courfeyrac immediately swipes a taste to “make sure it’s still good.”

They fall into an easy rhythm, occupied by their respective tasks as they prepare two batches of cookies--one by each of them, which Courfeyrac claims is so that Marius can “get the hang of baking on his own,” although Marius suspects ulterior motives; after all, he doesn’t exactly have a stellar track record when it comes to culinary creations.

Either way, it’s not long before Marius’ batch is fully done. He pulls the tray out of the oven with one worn mitt, wincing as he notes the burnt dark brown color the majority of the cookies are. Picking one up, he lightly dings it against the side of the tray; it makes an audible _clang_.

“Ooh, they’re finished?” Courfeyrac leans over Marius’ shoulder, also staring down at the tray of subpar--there’s no use sugarcoating (ha) it--gingerbread cookies.

“Yeah.” Marius sighs. “But I wouldn’t-”

Before he can complete his sentence, Courfeyrac has already leaned over, grabbed one of the--more edible looking, thankfully--cookies, and popped it in his mouth, chewing with a thoughtful expression.

Marius waits. He’s expecting laughter, a joke, criticism that is not malicious but stings nonetheless, platitudes even, in the worst case scenario. Something like “I can tell you made an effort” or “you know why they say ‘practice makes perfect’” or even “better luck next time.”

What he’s not expecting is for Courfeyrac’s face to break into a smile, so bright it would be impossible to claim that it’s anything but genuine. He doesn't say a word, just reaches for another cookie, popping it into his mouth with the same eagerness he did the first.

Marius stares, confused. He looks at Courfeyrac, looks at the borderline charred cookies lining the tray, appearing even less appetizing now that they’ve cooled off a little, looks back at Courfeyrac, eating without the slightest hint of hesitation.

A thought crosses Marius' mind, so sudden it almost slips by without conscious acknowledgement: 

Reversing cause and effect, rose-tinted glasses, lov--

\--But no. That’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

.

Everything comes to a head in late December.

It's that odd time of year between Christmas and New Year's where time seems to flow and bend and loop around itself like something far removed from reality. It's _also_ that odd time of year where Marius' grandfather remembers his existence for once and proceeds to send him multiple passive aggressive check-filled holiday cards. Marius takes great pleasure in throwing each unopened envelope into the fire as soon as it arrives.

(How the old man even got his address, he doesn't know. He suspects Théodule, who may be in another country at the moment but surely would never pass up a chance to disrupt Marius' peace of mind--

\--But he's getting off topic, isn't he. That seems to be happening a lot, as of late.)

Despite the downsides to this time of year, one good thing does come with it: Cosette's return. Even though she hadn't been gone for long, Marius had still deeply missed her. And he suspects she feels the same, given the fact that she's come over to his and Courfeyrac's apartment for at least a few hours each day since she's been back.

Today is no exception. In fact, she is in the living room with Courfeyrac right now, the two of them playing some card game while Marius paces back and forth across the half wood, half carpet floor of his bedroom.

He'd excused himself a few minutes prior, claiming to need to fetch a sweatshirt. Said sweatshirt is currently lying on his bed, ignored from the moment Marius had roughly pulled it out of his closet, almost yanking out the hanger as well. He doesn't even spare the sweatshirt a glance as he abruptly stops his pacing and flops down next to it.

Staring up at the ceiling, Marius attempts to collect his thoughts--and his courage. He doesn't know what the aftermath will be, but he knows he has to do it; he has to come clean about his feelings to Cosette and Courfeyrac, no matter what.

Because, the thing is, Marius is very well acquainted with secrets. He's experienced firsthand the way they fester in the heart, poison the soul, throw the world off its orbit and watch, laughing, as it falls into the sun. He remembers what it's like to stare at a lonely grave, a drawer filled with years' worth of unread letters, and feel nothing but confusion, anger, grief grief _grief_.

He would not wish that on anyone, especially not the two people who mean the most to him.

So Marius is going to tell them everything. Today. He really, really will. Absolutely. No doubt. 100% certainty.

...Just as soon as he can convince himself to actually leave his bedroom.

Sounds drift through thin walls, reverberate through his head: Cosette's teasing tone, Courfeyrac's laughter. Marius inhales, exhales, counts to ten, twenty, thirty. This is it. He can't keep putting it off.

With a sigh, Marius pushes himself off the bed and makes his way to the door, hand gripping the tarnished golden-colored knob. Twisting it open, he exits the room without looking back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes he forgot to take his sweatshirt.

Neither Cosette nor Courfeyrac looks up as Marius approaches. Drawing closer and taking a seat near them, he is able to--not exactly comprehend, but hear--their conversation.

"-Can't play a plus two on top of a plus four," Courfeyrac is saying, "I refuse to allow it."

"You're only saying that because you don't want to draw fourteen cards," Cosette retorts, although the amusement in her voice is clear. "Besides, that was how we played in Petit-Picpus."

"You played Uno in a convent?"

"We found a game set hidden in the back of a cupboard while searching for the hidden coffin of one of the Sisters." Cosette idly rearranges a few of her fanned out cards as she speaks.

"Searching for _what_?" Courfeyrac's eyes widen for a second before narrowing once more. "Aha! You almost got me, but I shall not be distracted so easily. Placing a plus two on top of a plus four is simply wrong! Abhorrent! An affront to common sense! Marius agrees, don't you?"

"Um." Marius jolts at the direct address. "I don't really have an opinion on it. But," he begins, before the bickering can start up again, "There's actually something I want to talk to the two of you about."

Cosette and Courfeyrac exchange a look before simultaneously laying down their cards, Courfeyrac shrugging while Cosette makes a _go on_ gesture with her--now unoccupied--hands.

"Okay. So." Marius inhales, balls his hands into fists to keep them from flex-curl-flexing the way instinct demands. "Cosette, you know I love you." She hums an affirmative. "Right. Well. That's never going to change. But, the thing is. Courfeyrac," It's the moment of truth. Marius pushes on ahead, afraid that if he falters for too long he'll end up retreating altogether. "I think, no, I know, I'm in love with you too."

And with that it's done. Everything's out there, no turning back. There's nothing left to do but wait. And worry. And spiral. And he'd thought this was the right decision, but what if it wasn't? What if he's just made the biggest mistake of his life? Oh no oh no oh no oh--

\--"We know." Courfeyrac speaks for both him and Cosette, who confirms the statement with a nod.

Marius blinks once, twice, twenty times, a few more times for good measure. " _What_?!"

"Well," Courfeyrac starts, sounding much calmer than the situation warrants, "It's kind of obvious. I mean. We live together even though you and Cosette have been together for a while now. Which wouldn't exactly be notable on its own, I suppose, but there are also the facts that you invite me on your dates, and you get flustered as soon as I so much as touch you."

"I do _not_." Marius protests, once he has finally collected his thoughts enough to.

"You really do," is Cosette's, smiling, contribution.

A beat passes where no one says anything. Another beat and Marius attempts a hesitant, "So, this means…."

"What do you want it to mean?" Courfeyrac tilts his head to a side.

"I-" Marius frowns. "Do you even feel the same way?"

"I do," Courfeyrac answers, without hesitation. "I love you too."

And it's such a simple statement, but the words spark at something in Marius' heart, rub against it like flint against steel. "Well, if that's the case, then, then-" He directs his attention to Cosette. "You're okay with this?"

"Yes." Her eyes glimmer with something unreadable yet comforting. "You're not the only one with these feelings, you know?" She reaches over to lay a hand over Marius' own, uncurling his fingers from the fist they're still clenched into. "We were just waiting for you to realize."

"Oh." Marius says. " _Oh_." And then he's laughing, loud and unrestrained. He just feels so oblivious, so foolish, and, wow, hindsight really is _something_.

"Marius." Cosette's touch is grounding, pulls Marius away from the pit of self-degradation he'd nearly fallen into. "What do you want?" Her voice is steady as she echoes Courfeyrac's earlier words.

"I want to be with you." he says, and then, making eye contact with Courfeyrac. "Both of you."

Marius leans slightly over, presses a hand against Courfeyrac's while keeping hold of Cosette's. He looks between them, savors the way their eyes shine bright with matching emotion. _We want that too_ is written all over their expressions, so clear it is unnecessary for either of them to actually give voice to the sentiment--although it is still nice to hear it when they do.

And sitting here in this slightly chilly living room, hands clasped together, Uno game laying forgotten to the side, is not an ending by any means--or a beginning, really--but Marius still swears he feels the reality of "happily ever after."


End file.
